


Redbeard

by threadoflife



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, Kidlock, Redbeard - Freeform, They meet as kids, it's so sappy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-20
Updated: 2017-01-20
Packaged: 2018-09-18 18:44:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9398075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/threadoflife/pseuds/threadoflife
Summary: John is twelve, and he's playing fetch with his boy when he meets Sherlock.





	

**Author's Note:**

> idfk what this is. kidlock is so adorable. i hate them.

John is twelve, and he is on the playground playing with his dog, a golden retriever bigger than he is. John’s hair is fairer, though, and his eyes are blue instead of brown—John likes blue better than brown—so he think it’s okay that his boy is bigger than he is. The other kids at school laugh at him when they see him with his boy, but that doesn’t matter to John. His boy is still a better friend than any of the kids at school could ever be. He doesn’t call John a dwarf, and he always brings him his slippers in the morning. John usually forgets his slippers, and his mom always scolds him for it. Five mornings out of seven, his boy saves him from that.

They’re playing fetch, and John throws the stick as far as he can. He watches with a wide grin as his dog runs after it and cheers him on by yelling, “Faster, my boy, faster!”

His boy comes bounding back to him and gives a short bark when John wrestles the stick out from between his teeth. He pats him on the head and then brings his arm behind his head to throw the stick again, but—

“Why do you call him by such a stupid name!” someone suddenly says, and John whirls around. There’s a boy behind him, as thin as the stick in John’s hand, and he has at least two heads on John, even though he looks young. He can’t be more than ten. He’s dressed like a pirate, and wild dark curls peek out from underneath a tricorn hat. His eyes are bright, and though John stares at them, he can’t figure out if they’re blue. They’re oddly intense.

“That _is_ his name,” John says after a moment, slightly affronted. This isn’t the first time he’s had this conversation. “I don’t like giving him a real name when he can’t tell me if he likes it or not.”

The other boy doesn’t seem to listen; he sits in a crouch, his odd eyes fixed on the golden retriever by John’s side, and his lips are parted. John feels his anger melt somewhat. That’s the same expression Harry had worn on her face when she’d seen John’s boy the first time: love, or something like it.

Still, you don’t go around telling people— _strangers_ —how to name their dogs. He opens his mouth to give the other boy an earful about manners, but the other boy bowls him over.

“Well you can’t call him by that stupid name,” he complains, as if it’s his dog, not John’s. “He _deserves_ a name!”

John only scowls at the other boy and crosses his arms. Two heads taller or not, he isn’t intimidated at all, and he doesn’t like what the other boy is saying. “What,” he says, “as if your name is better?” _It’s probably Rude_.

The other boy draws himself up and raises his chin, as if to make himself taller still. “It is,” he says haughtily, looking down his nose at John. “It’s _Sherlock_!”

John can’t help himself and bursts out into giggles. “What,” he gasps, “what kind of name is _that_?!”

“An _extraordinary_ name,” Sherlock snaps, clearly offended. “What’s yours, then? Must be as boring as you look.”

John’s laughter fades, and he’s back to frowning. Damn. “… it’s _John_ ,” he mutters reluctantly under Sherlock’s piercing gaze. By his side, his boy gives a weak thump with his tail, and John looks down at him and begins ruffling him behind the ears a bit, glad for the distraction.

“Ha!” Sherlock crows. He waves his wooden sword around for emphasis. “So I was right, I win this parley! Now I get to choose my booty!”

John’s head snaps up again. He stares at Sherlock as if Sherlock is an insect. “Parley? _Booty?_ ” John shakes his head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“No one ever does,” Sherlock declares as if that’s normal. “You lost this round of verbal sparring. I won. So I get to choose the prize.”

John just frowns some more, unsure what to make of that. He doesn’t really know what Sherlock is talking about, but whatever. Fine. It’s not like he was doing anything interesting, anyway—he was just playing fetch, and while that’s a nice game, it tends to get boring after a while. So he shrugs his shoulders, and says, “Okay, go on.” A second later, he adds, “Nothing weird, though,” because he doesn’t really know Sherlock. Yet.

Sherlock disregards John again, drops back into a crouch, and stares at his boy. “Your name,” he begins, voice solemn, “shall be _Redbeard_!”

There is a pause.

John wrinkles his nose and furrows his brow. “… Redbeard?”

Sherlock avoids looking up at him. His cheeks are flushing, going redder by the second. Is he embarrassed?

“Yes, _Redbeard_ ,” Sherlock says emphatically, keeping his eyes on Redbeard. He takes his tricorn hat off and puts it on Redbeard’s head instead. Good old Redbeard just humours him, just gives a huff.

And suddenly John sees where Sherlock is coming from. Pirate hat, parley, booty, prize—and Redbeard—

“Don’t you see the ginger tone of his hair, right there—” 

“That’s an _amazing_ name!” John suddenly bursts out, startling Sherlock a little, who glances up at him. John is overjoyed: he’d never have been able to think of such a brilliant name by himself, and the tricorn hat _suits_ Redbeard.

John’s cheeks are starting to ache from the wide grin. “Yes, Redbeard! I love it!”

Sherlock has gone completely still, and he looks a little wary now. After a moment he asks, “… you do?” cautiously, wrinkling his nose a little in confusion.

“Cor, ‘course I do!” John, if possible, smiles even wider. “That’s the best name ever! You’re _brilliant_!”

And Sherlock is. John loves the name, and Redbeard, he is happy to find, seems to love it too. He barks loudly, once, in what John has come to understand is his approval, and he wags his tail wildly.

Sherlock’s cheek are red again. Or still?

It doesn’t matter; when Sherlock manages to smile back, finally, he allows his eyes to finally meet John’s, and—they’re Sherlock and John, from that moment on. As easy as that.


End file.
